Secret History
by Menamebephil
Summary: A DCAU compliant retelling of the Titan's origins, in five parts, plus an epilogue or two.
1. Tear away

**Secret History.**

**While I wait for my sister to finish her illustration for "Fissure", I thought I might as well get started on this oneshot series. These will be a "what if Teen Titans was DCAU compliant?" idea. I hold no delusions that TT as it stands can _ever _be DCAU compliant, so I have made appropriate changes. And I don't want to hear _anyone_ bitch about how Robin is supposed to be Dick Grayson. I know already.**

**--**

On the stroke of ten, Tim left his room.

He chose that hour because he knew Bruce would have left for his patrol, and Alfred would be preparing himself a small meal for the next half an hour. Dick was back in Bludhaven, and Barbara wasn't on duty tonight. It was now or never.

He crept through the dark hallways, stern paintings glaring down upon him. He caught a glimpse of a portrait of a woman in a plush purple velvet dress, and expertly quashed a shudder, although he couldn't stop his memory going down a well-worn road.

He slowly made his way to the grandfather clock,and stole his way inside. As he made his way down the long staircase, he couldn't hold in a tide of bitterness at his surroundings, and the man they reflected.

He had been hurt. The mind was an organ like any other, and the Joker had tried to break his completely. He had failed. It had taken a full year of therapy, a full year devoid of anything that could trigger a relapse, but he had survived. Sometimes, he felt he could even risk a smile, or even, on good days, a full laugh without falling into mania.

Good days had been few and far between, lately.

But still, how did the old maxim go? Whatever does not kill me makes me stronger?

Well, _Bruce_ sure didn't seem to think so.

Tim shook his head violently. Why? Why had Bruce seen the need to do that? Why take his mantle away?

The argument when Bruce had announced this had been explosive. Bizarrely, Bruce hadn't been expecting it. He'd just thought that Tim would be _happy_ to surrender the one thing he had left.

He wasn't a normal person. He hadn't been for years, really. But the Joker had sealed the deal. Going back to a civilian life would drive him insane.

He snorted in grim amusement at his wording.

Tim should have been ready for this, really. After all, it had been one of the recurring themes of his nightmares, on the few times he didn't dream of Arkham, or a ghost in purple.

_That's not funny...that's not..._

Bruce had said it had been for his own good, and why couldn't Tim understand that?

Oh, he understood alright. He understood all too well.

_You broke. You couldn't handle it. They spent a lot of effort putting you back together, and now they're going to put you in a glass case so you won't get broken again._

He had no friends here, no allies against the Bat.

Barbara, of course, agreed with Bruce. She couldn't forget what he had been like when they had found him in the abandoned asylum, and Tim couldn't hate her for it. She was scared, scared for him. But her fear was patronising. He didn't need protecting.

_Sometimes, in his dreams, he would see her masked face, streaked with tears, whispering frantically in his ear, and dream-Tim would always wonder who this woman was, and who was this 'Tim' she kept talking about? And, most importantly of all, did she get the joke? Did she _understand_?_

As for Dick, his stalwart ally, the one guy he felt he could rely on to defy Bruce in anything, he had abandoned Tim (again) to Bruce. Somehow, he thought that because he'd abandoned Gotham (and he'd had every right) everything was _his_ fault. If there was one trait Bruce had instilled in him, it was a tendency towards idiotic self-flagellation.

A glass case? Why that image?

Oh. He was in front of the costumes.

His wasn't there, of course. The black and red was locked away, somewhere where he wouldn't find it.

But Dick's costume was.

As he moved in front of the costume of the first Robin, he caught a glimpse of himself, reflected in the glass.

A year in therapy had changed him. He was paler, gaunter. But he was also taller, a fact that pleased him immensely, when he remembered to notice things like that.

The old costume fit him well, he found, and he nodded in satisfaction. He crossed over to the workstation, and harvested as many gadgets as he could.

Only one thing was left. Transportation.

He'd been pestering Dick to make him a bike, just before...just _before. _In the long year, only about half of which he could vaguely remember, he thought Dick had mentioned that he was working on it. Or maybe he had just dreamt that. It had been early on, when Dick and Barbara had sometimes come and sat outside his room and talked to him. At him. He hadn't let them in for months.

Aha. Looks like Dick had made it after all. Maybe Tim had more allies than he thought. Full tank, too.

With sudden surety of purpose, Tim wheeled the bike onto the roadway that led out of the cave. It was time to leave this mausoleum.

Without a backward glance, Tim mounted the bike, and the newly dubbed R-Cycle (his imagination had been stunted lately) roared into life, and Tim cannoned from the cave like a bat out of hell. It was time to leave his shadows behind.

Maybe he'd go to California. He'd had enough of the cold.


	2. Take away

**Well, this has got to be the first thing I have ever written that was met with dead, enigmatic silence. I found it oddly refreshing for my artistic integrity. Unfettered by reviewers, foisting their unwanted opinions on my work; just me, my keyboard, and the anonymity of the internet. Pure Zen. So, on to part two.**

**--**

Look left. Look right.

All clear. Drop out of this tree, make sure not to drop the bag, and... in.

Okay. You can do this. Just walk up there, say what you need to say, leave the stuff, and get the hell out.

'Sides, it's not like I've never done this before. I know the routine.

Okay, nearly there. Breathe in, breathe out. Damnit, now the blinking's started. I can do this. It's not a problem. Okay. Here we go.

First stop. What do I need to get? Ah. It's Cliff. One bunch of lilies, and a Budweiser. A _real_ Budweiser.

"Ah, so, Cliff, I guess this is for you. You always complained that the worst thing about being an overgrown tin can was that you couldn't drink any more. So I guess this is for you. Heh, if I know you, you're up there in the nearest beer hall. Heh, you've probably started a fight by now. So I thought you might appreciate it. Or maybe you wouldn't. Maybe I'm being stupid.

"But yeah. You were great, big guy. I'll miss how we used to get into trouble." I'm grinning now, I think. "Remember how we used to mess with Larry's head? We put a whole new spin on the phrase 'deny everything, huh?"

"_There you are. Garfield, do _you_ happen to know why there is a _bee's nest_ in my bedroom?"_

"_No."_

"_Then do you know who _would _know?"_

"_No."_

"_Where's Cliff?"_

"_Dunno."_

"_Oh, there he is."_

"_No he isn't."_

"_No I'm not."_

"_...Yes you are. You're trying to hide in the closet."_

"_No I'm not."_

"_What are you talking about, Larry? We don't even _have_ a closet. And who's Cliff?"_

"_Garfield, I'm going to count to ten-"_

"_No you aren't."_

"_What? Yes, I am. And if I don't have a satisfactory explanation for all this, I'm telling Steve."_

"_No you won't."_

"_You tell him, Cliff."_

"_I thought you didn't know who Cliff was."_

"_...What're you talking about, Larry? Man, you're weird, you know that?"_

"Heh, good times. But... for all the stupid stuff we'd pull, all the fun we'd have, I liked it best when we just talked. You were always easy to talk to about anything. And I _am _gonna get a moped, some day. I know it won't be a patch on your bike, but you talked me into it. Two wheeled transportation is where it's at.

"Later, Cliff. See ya around."

Okay. That wasn't so hard now, was it? One down, three to go.

Okay, another name, another bunch of lilies.

"Larry. You're awkward, you know that? Of course you know that, you _enjoyed_ making everyone's life difficult. You volunteered to teach me _maths_, fer crying out loud. What kind of sadistic person wants teach maths to ten year olds?

"And I had no idea what to give you. You were always like 'mortal possessions are worthless, someday everything will turn to dust, woo woo woo, I look like the invisible man", and stuff. So I got you something anyway, just to spite you. And I _laminated _them, so they'll last a good long time."

Alley oop, down it goes, thumping onto the soft earth.

"There. Every single exercise you told me to do that I didn't. Even the long division. It took me a long time, and I hope you're happy with it. If not, I guess marking will give you something to do.

"Y'know, Larry, if we were a family, you were _definitely_ my long-suffering older brother. I mean, since Cliff already had the 'maverick uncle' spot filled. Which is weird, since you were three times my age when we met. But when you weren't slaving over that old chalkboard and trying to get me to pay attention, you were telling me all these great stories about all the adventures you guys had when you first started, or you were trying to teach me to dance, for some reason, or you were telling me the _supremely creepy _stories from when you guys first started up. Like the one about the Russian hermaphrodite. That one scarred me for life. Okay, so I had to go look up 'hermaphrodite' before I got scarred. Just me thankful I never asked Cliff what it meant.

"Larry...why were you so sad all the time? I mean, sure our job was hard, and serious, but you always seemed so low. I dunno. But, wherever you are, I hope you're finally starting to cheer up."

Okay, eyes are pricking a little now, and it's only going to get harder, but I'll get there eventually.

Next name, more lilies.

"Rita...mom..." Damnit, got to keep it _together "_You were my mom, for a few years, and I can't think how I could have asked for a better one. Seriously, you were awesome. I dunno, that seems like a cop-out, but there's not much more that needs to be said. Whenever I was down, you knew what would cheer me up. Every time. I dunno how you did it. Was it some superpower you never mentioned? 'Psychic powers allow Elasti-Girl to always know how to cheer up small green kids.'

"You remember when you took me into the city, to that music shop, and said I could have any one I wanted? And I immediately went for the tuba, 'cause it was bigger than I was? And you just smiled and suggested something smaller, like a harmonica?

"I didn't like that idea too much, did I? So you compromised, and said if I learned to play the harmonica, you'd get me a tuba? I never did, but listen to _this_."

Here we go, don't screw up, deep breath, in, out, in out, this is digging into my lip, uncomfortable with my funny teeth...done.

"There, done. 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.' _Told _ya I'd learn to play something. So what I'm gonna do is, as soon as I can afford it, I'm gonna buy myself a tuba. And I'm gonna learn how to play it, too."

Christ, I think I'm starting to cry. It's okay, though. Rita's seen that before.

Not for too long, though. I've cried enough this month.

"'Bye, mom. I love you. Say hi to mom for me."

Alright, one left. I can do this.

No lilies this time. No flowers for the old man. He wouldn't have appreciated them.

So many words. There's too much to say here, and I don't know how to say any of it. I had a speech, I'm sure, but I can't remember a thing.

I want to break down and cry at him, I want to scream obscenities at him, I want to ask him why, why did he have to go?

Was he proud of me? I guess I'll never know. I can live with that. I haven't got a choice, after all.

As Steve, he's too complicated. I don't think I knew Steve well enough to speak for him, to talk to him like I know what he'll say back. So, there's only one thing to do. Go back to the only time I could understand where he was coming from.

Draw myself up, back straight, heels together, toes at forty-five degrees. Arms straight at my side, palms flat. School my face to blankness.

Hand comes up, palm held flat, chopping above my right eyebrow. My eyes have started to mist up again, but I'm alright. I'm calm. And that was _textbook_.

Even Mento could be proud of that one, I'm sure of it.

I still have to leave something, though. I was gonna leave my mask, but Mento wouldn't approve. The world thinks I'm dead, after all. No good leaving evidence to suggest otherwise in public. So there's just this. Just a videotape of _"Meet Me In St. Louis". _There's a story behind that, but I'm not gonna think about it, or I _will_ cry. And that wouldn't do. Not at all.

I look up. It's late. I twist and shift, turning into an albatross, and fly into the setting sun.

**--**

**I just _love_ killing off the Doom Patrol. You should try it some time. It's fun.**


	3. Walk away

Just keep walkin'.

It's all you can do.

Bad enough you lose a parent. Worse that the other thinks you're some kinda experiment.

Some days you think he was _glad_ that you got mangled; that way he got himself a nice fresh body to work on, to drag back from the brink of death.

And that's another problem. Are you still alive? Are you still Victor Stone?

It's a good question. Half your brain is a computer now. What does that _mean_? Already your memories of your life seem strange, confused. Like they're imperfect. Which, of course, they are.

Compared to that, anything you want to remember from the moment you woke up is right there, a crystal clear image burned onto your left eye.

You can't be sure, 'cause remembering this sort of thing is hard, but the way you think might be changing, too. Before, you just did what came easy to you- football, mechanics, whatever. Now, everything's weighed up by its potential gain versus the power drain on your body.

Turns out a lot of things waste more than you thought. And besides, you don't wanna think about sports any more. Heh, you'd think any coach would _kill_ to have a guy that can bench press five tonnes on their team, but no. They were all too freaked by the tin suit. Old friends struggling to make eye contact, old teachers trying not to comment when desks break, 'cause you now weigh about five times as much as any other pupil, old girlfriend avoiding you like the plague, 'cause the first thing she did when she visited you after the crash was scream and run...

Sometimes shit's just easier to walk away from. So you did. Took as much cash as you could find, and just started walking. You knew you'd never get on any kind of public transport without a disguise, so you covered up, gloves, baggy jeans, and a hoodie. Didn't work on anyone who got too close- they still saw the eye- but not many mentioned it.

So you caught a Greyhound out from Metropolis, just heading as far away from the East Coast as you could, until your money ran out. So you started walking. And here you are. Nowhere.

Dad said he wanted to give you a second chance. Funny, you don't remember being a lab rat _before_ the accident. Old man was probably doing cartwheels when he heard what happened to you, what with his speciality in cybernetics, and wasn't that a happy accident, that the one guy who could save you happened to be your Dad? 'Give you a second chance', yeah right. Look at you. If they wanted to save you, why did they bother making you stronger than twenty men? Why did they make you bulletproof? What made them stick missiles in your shoulders, and cannons in your hands?

The rocket in your shoe is just strange. R & D had a field day there.

To be honest, you might have been better off dead. Better in the next life then trapped somewhere between the two, as this clinical monstrosity.

Victor Stone is dead, that you're pretty sure of now. Victor Stone had been a friendly, outgoing kind of guy, always going out of his way to make people feel at ease. What's left is Victor Stone's mind, but none of his heart. If you wanna put it in spiritual terms, his soul's moved on, and you're just a robot inhabiting his body. What's left of it, anyway.

You try to avoid people, since they generally scream and run once they've had a good look at you. When you have to go out in public, you do it at night. You don't know where you're going, you just know you can't stay where you are. There's no place for you.

Just keep walkin'.

It's all you can do.

**--**

**Don't like this one much, hence the extreme shortness. The next one should be better. And longer.**


	4. Find a way

It was rare these days for the Original Seven to have an official meeting. It was true that they still convened every month, but since the fall of Darkseid, and with him Luthor, the meetings had become a mere formality. Not so this one. This one had been called in great haste, mere minutes after a strange girl had walked into the Metro Tower, and requested the aid of the League.

"So, we put it to a vote," Superman said. "Batman?"

Wally rolled his eyes, but only internally. Typical Supes, doesn't want to go first.

"I say no," Batman said, shortly, and Wally suddenly found himself blessed with precognitive powers. He knew _exactly _how this meeting would go. "She's not trustworthy. You all know what happened to Zatana. We have no evidence that she didn't try something as part of an attack, perhaps a pre-emptive strike against our magic users."

Wally couldn't deny that the only magic user in the building suddenly spouting raving proclamations about endless darkness and legions of hell the second the girl walked through the door _did_ look a little suspect.

"I agree with Batman," J'onn supplied. "Her mind is... strange. Chaotic. All that is clear is that her mind is full of darkness, and possibly worse. I do not think we can afford to give too much credit to anything she says."

Wally groaned to himself. _Yep, here we go. Bats lets his suspicion of magic cloud his judgement, J'onn doesn't know how to react when he can't read a stranger's mind, and gets all wigged out-_

"I'm with Batman."

-Shayera can see where this is going, and she's still a bit twitchy about being in the minority, Lantern will-

"Me too."

-Lantern will vote, partly because a bit of him is a suspicious old man, and partly to prove that he doesn't _have_ to vote against Shay, and now it's all _politics_.

Superman nodded, and looked to the two people who still hadn't cast their vote.

_What do you expect of me, Supes? You want me to toe the line so you can file this as a unanimous decision? Sorry._

Wally deliberately shook his head. "No. I say we help her."

Diana wavered, but eventually chose.

"I'm sorry, Wally," she said, sounding genuinely apologetic.

"Whatever," he sighed in response, and left the conference room.

--

Wally sighed as he observed the girl sitting in the waiting lobby of the Metro Tower.

_For all that I think J'onn is a great guy, whenever he gets into his whole 'the greater good' spiel, I just want to _hit_ him._

Slowly, reluctantly, he made his way up to her. He thought he saw the vestiges of worry in her eyes, but they were gone in a moment, and her features returned to blankness.

"...Hi. I'm the Flash." _Great, Wally._ _When did you forget how to talk to girls under eighteen?_

"...Raven," the girl replied, in a gravelly tone.

"Huh. Cool. Yeah, look, I have something to tell you..."

"They didn't go for it, did they? They're not going to help me," the newly identified Raven said, and although she looked composed, Wally could hear genuine fear that almost descended into panic in her voice, and she suddenly seemed a lot younger.

_How old is she? Fourteen? Can't be more than that. Bats, you can be such an asshole sometimes._

"...No. Sorry." He looked around. "Look, I'm not supposed to help you, and Bats will probably skin me alive for this, but is there anywhere you need to go? I know it's not enough, but it's all I can get away with, I'm afraid."

Raven was silent for a moment, and closed her eyes.

"West."

Wally felt his chest tighten in panic, but tried to control his breathing.

"What?"

"West." She opened her eyes and looked up. "That's the way I need to go."

"Oh," he breathed, relaxing. "Sure. I can do that."

She stood, and he picked her up bridal style, ignoring how her muscles locked at the contact, and began to run.

--

He chose a leisurely pace, for the sake of his passenger, so it took a good twenty minutes for him to hit the west coast. He found he'd headed to California, almost on instinct- he'd gone via Central and Keystone as a matter of course, which had altered his route.

"Well, here we are. Jump City, California. This okay for you?" he asked, setting Raven down.

"Yes. This is fine." She began to walk away, but hesitated momentarily. "...Thanks."

"Eh, no worries. Subverting Bats' authority is always fun," he replied nonchalantly. "...You _sure _this is where you wanna be? I mean, Jump's not exactly the nicest of cities, you know."

She shrugged. "This is where I need to be. That's all I know."

"Well, hope that works out for you, I guess. See you around," he said, and Raven walked away, melding into the shadows of a nearby alley.

Wally frowned after her, his mask screwing up in a manner that many would have found amusing.

"Weird kid."

With that, he turned on his heel and ran, heading for home.


	5. Get away

She sat in the dark, and waited for her chance, a chance that she was sure would come.

She refused to give in to despair. She had done that once, and learned from that mistake. So she retained her hope, even as her body shook from the power unnaturally forced into it, her skin palpably rippling as the energy she held sought an escape.

The Gordanians had built their cell well, but on the principles that she was simply a stronger version of an ordinary Tamernaean. The braces that pinned her cuffed wrists to the wall above her head were strong, as were the walls that surrounded her. They kept her in darkness, to deny her the strength that light would grant her.

But she did not rely on a sun to replenish her strength. Not when she carried so much power within her, thanks to the Psions' twisted meddling. Ironically, that could be the one thing to save her, if is didn't kill her first.

Weeks of inertia were taking their toll. The energy in her was slowly building- hampered by the lack of sunlight, but it grew still, feeding off the heat of the room- warmed by the engines- and the gruel she was given. Soon, she would be unable to contain it, unless she found a way to release it, and soon.

When she was fed- a grey tasting slop- it was in total darkness, a spoon jabbed into her face. That was the only thing the ever happened to her. She supposed she should be glad- the slavers seemed frightened enough of her that they left her alone (she had given them good reason to be wary, too- when they had come across her, it had taken the entire crew to subdue her). That would not be the case when they arrived at the Citadel. The collars would make sure of that. Her time at the limited mercies of the Citadel still haunted her nightmares,and she was sure it always would. She didn't want to add fuel to them.

Of course, she had no intention of actually _allowing_ the Gordanians to get her to the Citadel. That thought alone kept her from terror and despair.

It had taken a long time to justify any escape to herself. She was a prize, a political prisoner given by her father to prevent a war with the Citadel. She had escaped, once, and the act had nearly triggered war. Before she could be escorted back to the Citadel, she had fled, and her father had sent Kommand'r to retrieve her. Both had fallen into the hands of the Psions.

When the sisters had unleashed their new power upon their tormentors, it had attracted a Gordanian slave ship. She and Kommand'r had gone separate ways to escape the ship, and she had been captured. The Gordanians had informed the Citadel of their cargo, and had set off to deliver her to the Citadel.

Her train of reasoning ran thus: the Gordanians had been steadily growing in power since the conquest of Thanagar, and an alliance between them and the Citadel could prove fatal. However, if the Gordanians failed to deliver her as they promised, it could sour any relations the two races had. With luck, the Citadel might believe that the Gordanians had kept her for themselves.

Especially if there were no witnesses left to argue otherwise. It was not a thought she particularly relished, especially since Tameran was not at war with the Gordanians, but she didn't have much choice.

Her hearing, trained by countless weeks of darkness, picked up the sounds of the guard changing.

It was time to go. She could not afford to wait any longer.

With a surge of rage, her muscles bunched and her arms ripped from the wall. Closing her eyes against the blinding light, she summoned green light around her cuffed fists, and aimed them at the door. It buckled, and another volley smashed it down altogether. Four Gordanians were waiting for her. Her hands raised. Four Gordanians died.

Blundering in the dim, blinding light, she made her way to a window, and –wonder of wonders- saw a planet nearby, a smear of blue and green. A kick smashed the window, and she shot from the slave ship like a bottle from a cork, summoning the happiest memory she could (her mother, long before the sickness took her, free from the grey pallor or the shakes in her arms), a blinding contrail marking her course.

They would follow. Of course they would follow. They would not give up such a prize as her so easily. They would hunt her wherever she hid. They would not rest until she was dragged in chains before the Citadel.

Good luck to them. They would most certainly need it.

She was aware that somewhere in her head she was laughing in sheer relief; marvelling at the sensation of _freedom, _after so long. She ignored the feeling. There would be time enough to enjoy life later, when she was sure that she would live long enough to savour it.

As she plummeted down, her skin began to burn from the friction of re-entry. Her body drank in the heat, replacing the energy lost keeping her alive in the vacuum, keeping her whole and feeding her internal organs and muscles in the absence of air. As she entered the upper atmosphere, and felt the familiar weight of gravity upon her, she offered a short prayer to X'Hal before she blacked out.

**--**

**I'm riffing off Kryalla Orchid's works here. Note that that is a completely different concept to _ripping_ off. I will explain the difference to her if by some chance she ever happens to read this.**


	6. Break away

Tim sat in his hotel room, and tried to sort through the events of the last twenty four hours. So he'd gone to Jump City, and all had seemed to be on par with what he had expected. He had begun his vigilante career in a standard fashion, and everything seemed to be going swimmingly.

Then an alien girl dropped from the sky. That hadn't been in the plan.

The events that had followed tore his plan into tiny shreds, set them on fire and scattered the ashes over the sea.

Frankly, the entire situation seemed suspicious to him. Four superpowered people of around his age all converging on the same city in the same night? Something else was going on here.

He was going to find out what.

"Robin? What is the purpose of this device? It shot water at me."

Just as soon as he'd explained to Starfire what a bidet was.

--

Beast Boy sat on a branch, staring at the bright yellow device in his hands.

Sure, he'd been enthusiastic when he'd met the rest of the guys. He'd wanted to make a good impression, and on reflection, he might have been a little... _overenthusiastic_. But that wasn't what concerned him.

What concerned him was the Curse.

He was fairly sure that the Curse existed by now, after so much evidence in its favour. What was the phrase? 'Twice a coincidence, three times a pattern...'

What was four times? A conspiracy?

A bizarre image was conjured up by that thought, of a conference room occupied by shadowy robed men.

_'Logan has settled down again. He's not living like a hermit any more.'_

_'Damn. Break out the sniper rifles, maybe he'll get the hint this time.'_

Lately, he'd developed a sense of gallows humour about his life. It was the only sensible reaction.

But, as selfish as it sounded, he couldn't simply leave. Not when the world seemed to be handing him a fairy tale.

Knowing his luck, once the world had got him suitably distracted by this, it would take the opportunity to kick him in the balls once again.

He'd have to take his chances. If he simply said 'no', then he'd have to explain why, and that wasn't something he felt he could go into right now. So all he could do was hope like hell that these people were a lot more resilient than everyone else he knew. And at the first sign that the Curse was manifesting, he would be gone.

--

Raven was having doubts.

She had rented a motel room with Cyborg, and had found the arrangements moderately comfortable. When the metallic man was around, he generally let her be, and she spent much of her time reading or meditating.

She had decided to stay with Cyborg because of his mind. Of all of them, he was the only one she could really stand for long periods of time. His emotions were... soft, almost muted. She suspected this was as much due to his physiology as anything else.

Starfire was loud, which to Raven translated as 'dangerous'. Too much emotion could break through her empathetic barriers feed her own emotions, which was dangerous. As for the other two...

They were physically painful to be around. Robin had a mind like broken glass, all bleeding edges and blinding lights. Hanging around him for more than about ten minutes gave her a migraine. As for the other one, the green boy, his mind was like someone was screaming in her ear in a language she didn't speak. He was loud, he was confusing, and the only thing that was clear was that he was not well.

She was starting to wonder if she could take this.

But they all exhibited the qualities she was looking for. They all knew how to fight, a decent proportion of them seemed reasonably intelligent, and most importantly, they all appeared to trust her.

Of course, they didn't actually _know_ about her, but she wasn't going to think about that.

--

It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time, and he welcomed its return. Enthusiasm. He was actually hopeful now it seemed that there was actually something in his future worth looking forward to.

His new team mates seemed an eclectic group, but he'd got along well enough with Beast Boy (although the green kid had vanished almost immediately after the communicators had been handed out) and Raven was nice enough. She hadn't pried into anything about him, like he was sure would happen, and he was eternally grateful for it. Robin had seemed a little odd, and he was still wary of Starfire, but he figured he'd get used to them.

On a whim, he fiddled with his arm, and fired up the locator. Four blips marked the locations of each of the communicators. With a frown, he noticed one by itself, in the park. Touching it, he found he was calling Beast Boy. After a moment, he was answered.

"_You have Reached the CIA Hotline. Please hold. Your call is very important to us." _What followed was Beast Boy humming an inane tune for a few seconds.

"Ha ha. Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to do something. I saw an arcade in town earlier, if you think you're man enough."

Beast Boy snorted derisively. _"Bring it, RoboCop."_

Cyborg grinned. "Ten minutes. Unless you're chicken."

"_Only sometimes."_

--

Starfire hovered over the bay, where several boats had gathered, transporting men and materials needed to create her new home, and that was a strange concept indeed. This planet seemed more like a holiday destination than somewhere to live.

In a week and a half, she had seen more to amaze and astound her than she had in the rest of her life. From she sheer variety in colour the world had to offer to the small things, like the attitudes of the natives (the first time she had taken flight, barely anyone had so much as batted an eyelid), everything was new and fascinating and simply _glorious_.

However, something was troubling her. Her newest friend, Robin, seemed unhappy. He was patient with her, always taking time to explain things to her and answer her myriad questions, but that was the only time he stopped working. All other times, he was making telephone calls, or poring over maps, or disappearing for hours on end. It disheartened her greatly.

One day, a few days after she had arrived on this planet, she had been walking in the 'park' (a kind of curious public garden), an action she found soothing, pondering her masked friend, when she had caught sight of Beast Boy engaged in a similar activity. It was the first time she had seen him since the fight on the Gordanian ship, and she had flown over to talk to him.

After a few minutes, the conversation had progressed to the object of her worries. Starfire had confessed her confusion over Robin, and had told him that she knew next to nothing about him, his profession, anything. Was he a soldier? A guard of some sort? Were there others that wore his uniform?

Beast Boy had taken it upon himself to explain, and Starfire's admiration and sadness grew. She was amazed that all these people had set themselves up as sentinels, protecting the world for little reward, and more so people like Robin, who Beast Boy assured her had no inherent abilities at all.

But with this revelation grew unhappiness. She mourned the fact that Robin did not appear to stop and appreciate that which he worked so hard to guard. She doubted he had ever taken the time to sit and watch the sunlight play across a drop of water, or marvelled at the flight of birds, or the hundred small miracles that were around him.

She would not let this lie. If it were at all possible, she would help him to _live_.

It was nice to have a goal.

**--**

**One more epilogue to go. It'll be in the same format as this one.**


	7. A place to stay

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Robin's hours of furtive research had produced the same results as could have been achieved by simply taking everything that they had said at face value. And it irked him.

As unlikely as it seemed, there appeared to be no prior connection at all between any of them. Cyborg had been easy to trace- he had vanished from a lab in Metropolis a year ago. Robin had covertly made some inquiries and discovered the whole tale from one of the scientists. He'd then written it all down, and hidden his notes.

Starfire's story had been harder to verify, but after confirming that there _was_ a planet called Tameran, and there _was_ an empire that called themselves the Citadel, he felt that that was enough to go on for now. But he would watch her closely. At least she seemed open to his questions, what few he had asked.

The other two were more problematic. Beast Boy had introduced himself as 'ex-Doom Patrol', which had been a starting point. A little research had uncovered that the Doom Patrol were all supposed to be dead. When confronted with this, Beast Boy had become withdrawn and sullen, but had suggested that he had in fact survived, and had implied that Robin ought to get his eyes tested, since he obviously couldn't tell the difference between a living person and a corpse. He'd suggested that his mask in some way impeded his vision.

Frankly, Robin thought he was being needlessly unhelpful.

As for Raven, she had offered only the most scant of details, such as her age and dimension of origin. She gave no explanation as to why she had left Azerath, and had made it very clear, without saying a word, that further questions would be unwelcome. Robin knew when to retreat.

So he would watch them. He would lead them, he would fight alongside them, he would be as open and friendly as he felt he could be with them. But he wouldn't trust them, not until he could be sure he wasn't making a huge mistake.

--

Beast Boy sat in his brand new room, feeling pleased with himself.

He'd come up with a solution, a way to beat the Curse.

It was quite simple, really. Every time he had found a family, they had died. Violently. So, the only logical solution was to avoid any kind of familial feelings. Even with Galtry, or the two crooks, he had relied on them for food and shelter, if nothing else.

Sure, they could be friends, that wasn't a problem. But he wouldn't rely on them. He would buy his own food, his own stuff, he would clean his own room, he would lay down very clear barriers. Self reliance was the name of _his_ game.

It wouldn't be so hard, either. He was already a vegan, so that would explain his neurotic food preparation habits. He couldn't foresee any situation where anyone else would volunteer to clean anyone else's room, so that was alright.

Now the only obstacle left was avoiding labelling any of the Titans things like "brother", or something, even if it was in his own head. This would be easier if Robin didn't remind him so much of Mento right now. That guy _needed_ to chill out.

Personally, Beast Boy considered that all the soothing music and incense candles in the world (and those things had always smelled way too strong for him, anyways) wouldn't unwind Robin a notch, but the guy needed _something_, or else his brain'd pop.

--

Starfire's morning had been spent exploring the Tower. It seemed strange to her that such a huge edifice would house only five people, but Robin had assured her that the space would be necessary.

Yesterday she had gone shopping for everything her room would need, and had found some wonderfully diverting items, such as a perfectly circular bed, and a clock (which she had only recently learned to decipher) that took the form of a small black cat with the display on it's belly, and every second would be heralded by a swish of its tail.

This afternoon, she was engaged in somewhat more serious pursuits.

Using what technologies she could cobble together, and enlisting the help of Cyborg, she managed to create a device to allow her to communicate with Tameran. It wasn't the most user-friendly of devices, as each message would have to be coded into 8-bit binary before sending, and translated manually at the other end, but it was functional, and that was all that mattered.

The news she received gave her pause for thought.

Her father was ill, and not expected to live much longer. The council had elected Galfore to rule in his stead, and Starfire was pleased with that. He would make an excellent ruler, in her opinion. There was also a point where it was asked whether she would return home or not.

She would not. Completely ignoring the fact that her being seen to be alive and at liberty anywhere _near_ the Citadel would be foolhardy in the extreme, she had little tying her to Tameran. Any 'friends' she had were really little more than sons and daughters of Councilmen, attempting to curry favour with the next ruler, her sister was as banished as her, her brother had vanished years ago, her mother was dead, and she had little love for her father. Galfore, her _K'norfka_, was the only reason she could have to return.

She had four reasons to stay.

--

Raven was rethinking her position.

She might have been hasty in her judgement of Robin and Beast Boy.

In the months in between the meeting and moving in to the tower, she had only seen either of them sporadically, usually when they were all called upon to deal with some criminal activity or other. The change in Robin had been startling.

When they had first met, he had been dangerously close to snapping. His mind seemed to be held together through sheer stubbornness as much as anything else. Now, it seemed as if he was healing. The process was slow, of course, but Raven could sense that he was definitely more controlled than he had been. Who knows, in a year or two it might no longer physically pain her to be in his presence.

As for Beast Boy, he was still the same. She had no idea what events lead to his mind being such a maelstrom of pain and confusion, and frankly she didn't want to know.

It was a supreme irony, but Raven had very little empathy for her fellow human. She was dimly aware that a childhood of almost complete isolation hadn't helped matters, but the fact remained, and thus she considered herself the last person equipped to deal with a sob-story.

Besides, from his behaviour, he had no desire to confront his problems, and Raven was content to let them lie. She knew that the most sensible course of action would be to avoid him as much as possible, as well as Starfire. The two were too full of life for Raven; they both emoted so strongly that it bled over into her, and then things would explode.

But, Azar help her, she did think he was funny. On occasion.

Not that that would ever get mentioned. Ever.

--

Cyborg was poring over blueprints for a car, but his mind was far away.

Victor Stone was dead. That hadn't changed.

But Cyborg was alive. Alive, and it was about time the world knew it.

He could do some good with his new body. The idea had never occurred to him before, and not just because he wouldn't look good in spandex.

But it was oddly persuasive. He could save lives, and maybe, just maybe, find a measure of solace in doing so.

He'd spent a lot of his free time poring over philosophy texts, and one had been fascinating, in the works of Aristotle. The man had postulated that the soul was linked to purpose. Cyborg interpreted that as evidence that while he had wandered the country, without rhyme or reason, he'd had no soul.

Now he had a purpose. Perhaps he could find his soul along the way.

_I'm just a tin man looking for a heart_, he thought to himself.

_But if I catch myself linking arms with anyone and skipping, I swear to God I'll have myself committed._

**--**

**That's it. We're done. I've got nothing else to distract you people with while I wait for my sister to finish the picture.**

**Damn.**


End file.
